All posts tagged: writing

From My Higher Self, To Me, With Love

You are exactly where you’re meant to be, right here, right now. Not in the past, not in the future… Right here, right now, in this moment. It is only this moment. Yes, you are a spiritual being in a physical body, you are capable of perceiving non-physically, but in this current reality, in this particular moment of the Eternal Moment, your soul is co-existing and co-creating with your physical form, with your body. You must accept this; it would be delusional not to! The evidence is under your nose… Indeed, your nose is a part of the evidence. Therefore, be here, right now. Learn the lessons you came here to learn. Yes, you actually did choose to be born into a Catholic family. You chose all of your circumstances, and you are continuously creating your reality. You created this moment of writing knowing that otherwise your mind would burst; you wisely gave yourself this outlet. Trust that you are exactly where you’re meant to be and that you’re living exactly what your soul needs …

A (Re)Commitment To My Self

Without actually moving an inch, I can taste the bittersweet magic of writing, of watching as the first few mischievous words fearlessly leap onto the page, not knowing where they are going, or with what purpose, but choosing to follow anyway. I can feel how it feels to get lost in the process by simply closing my eyes. I can savor that moment when I lose track of time and forget where I am, who I am, how I am, why I am; that instant when I’m simply, freely, and easily surrendering and yielding to a force and an energy so deep within myself that it is as if it were All That Is. While the words create as they please by ordering themselves however they desire, I am able to immerse mind, body, and soul into the climax-like feeling of nearing the end, and the ecstasy of knowing that, when it is finished, the masterpiece will finally reveal itself and I will inevitably fall back into the constraints of my physical world and regain …

Choosing Not To Choose

Choices. I wrote this word down after a conversation I had at Glide, the place where a few of us volunteer once a week to help serve breakfast to the homeless in the Tenderloin neighborhood in San Francisco. We were wondering if there was any way to simplify the process of serving food so that it would be easier both for the staff, as well as for the clients. While casually brainstorming ideas, Brando, the manager of the Free Daily Meals Program, made an interesting comment: those that come to Glide don’t have the privilege of making choices throughout their day. They go about their lives depending on the goodwill of others. “Most of the time, they don’t even get to choose where they go to the bathroom,” he said, and it’s true. A lot of us can walk into a Starbucks to use the restroom, but if any of the people that go to Glide try to do the same, they will be rejected 95% of the time solely based on appearance. This obviously …

Your Trip, My Journey

I needed to write this before you answered me. You are sleeping right now, which gives me the perfect opportunity to finally breathe some life onto this page. We embark on a journey from the moment we are born and until the day we die. We do not choose to be thrust into this world. Some may consider this quite unfair. I, on the other hand, am glad I was not given the choice to be born, because that is one less thing off my shoulders. I may have not decided to come into the world had I known beforehand how much cruelty and destruction humans are capable of. But one thing is certain: I would have also missed out on the beautiful and miraculous possibilities of love. Therefore, since I am here anyway, I am happy with my decision to do my best to make an impact, whether it be small or large. Either one is fine by me, and both are completely out of my hands. Truly, it is better this way. Throughout …

365 Days Later

One year ago this week, I launched my blog. One year ago this week, I convinced myself to set aside my fears, because the world wasn’t going to wait for me to get over them, and I’m happy I didn’t wait, either. One year ago this week, my hands shook as I clicked “publish” for the first time… And they still do to this day, because that’s just not something I think I’ll ever get over. It’s truly an understatement to say that I’ve been incredibly blessed throughout my life, and that includes the feedback I’ve received regarding my writing. I am constantly humbled by the kind words and the encouragement offered, even if I can’t fully stop being my own worst critic. As a writer, I can be ruthless with myself. I read and edit everything a billion times before setting it free into the world, always worried I might be misinterpreted. The latter is included in the list of fears I’ve carried with me for most of my life. I’m still working on …

One Day, You

For a writer, there’s nothing worse than choking on the very words you’ve been desperately trying to cough out, and then, at the final moment, realizing you’ve drained them of their necessary air. For a writer, there’s nothing worse than knowing you have a deep ocean inside of you, from which words struggle to swim up, and up, and up, against strong currents imposed by you and no one else, only to watch them drown before reaching the surface. For a writer, you’re quite the trained killer. Who feels it but me? Who hears it but me? Who perceives it but me? Who bears it but me? I’ve been trying to spit something out for weeks. I’ve tried both languages. I’ve listened to music to inspire my thoughts and feelings (oh, these feelings!). I’ve tried to revive memories that still sting and sizzle as they make contact with my reality… And yet… And yet. Could it be? With so much to say? Really? Is this how it has to be? Just imagine: it’s all because …

A Borrowed Pearl

So You Want to Be a Writer if it doesn’t come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don’t do it. unless it comes unasked out of your heart and your mind and your mouth and your gut, don’t do it. if you have to sit for hours staring at your computer screen or hunched over your typewriter searching for words, don’t do it. if you’re doing it for money or fame, don’t do it. if you’re doing it because you want women in your bed, don’t do it. if you have to sit there and rewrite it again and again, don’t do it. if it’s hard work just thinking about doing it, don’t do it. if you’re trying to write like somebody else, forget about it. if you have to wait for it to roar out of you, then wait patiently. if it never does roar out of you, do something else. if you first have to read it to your wife or your girlfriend or your boyfriend or your parents or to …

Love Returns Love

This post has been living in my mind for the past two weeks, yet I had not made time for it, which has brought to my attention how badly I prioritize the hours in my day. Alas, I will sacrifice one more night’s sleep for the sake of letting it breathe. I am intrigued by all things human. Those who know me well joke that I am way too perceptive for my own good –or for their own good, really, since I pick up many things they wish I didn’t. And they are right, I notice almost everything. This is why the subject of love and how we approach it has not escaped my attention. Of course, we are constantly surrounded and bombarded by this topic, but most of us live our lives demanding it, without delving any deeper into its many layers. I will not bore you with a long-winded philosophy about it, I promise. All I want to get across is this: the more love you give, the more love you receive. Love …

Genesis.

How do I feel? That’s a loaded question. I feel heavy. I am drowning in a sea of words I want to shout, but I fear no one will hear…  Or worse: no one will listen. But, why? Why does it matter how I feel? It doesn’t, so please stop asking. Just know that I am going to express myself, regardless. I am going to WRITE. And so, this is how it all begins. This is how I move past my comfort zone. This is how I get over myself. This is how I become invincible. This is how I fulfill my calling. Because, quite frankly, I don’t matter, but what I was sent to say, does. It needs to be said. I could care less if you agree with it. I am not doing this for you. And I am done trying to pretend that I am. So, here it is. And here you are. Feel free to read on; feel free to leave. Either way, you’re welcome. -B. Photo: Belén Alemán / Self-portrait …